


kids these days. don't take no shit

by bluehfk



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Shameless Big Bang, baby ian and mickey, gallavich are my dads, redhead batshit crazy packing nine inches ian, season 11 will ruin me, shit-talking bitch-slapping piece of southside trash mickey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26714839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehfk/pseuds/bluehfk
Summary: ian and mickey first meet in the third grade. alternatively; all ian wanted was a pencil but ended up with a husband instead. inspired by theseason 10 prison interview.(or scroll to the end to watch an embedded version of the clip!)
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	kids these days. don't take no shit

ian gallagher first met mickey milkovich in the third grade. officially, anyway. it wasn't as if he didn't know who the boy was; the milkoviches were notorious on the south side.

with family members perpetually locked up in prison somewhere, they weren't exactly known for being the picture-perfect nuclear family, what with the white picket fence and reputation to uphold. typical northside shit.

but this was the ghetto and mickey milkovich set pretty good standards for a kid who grew up on the south side of chicago. as far as nine-year-old ian was concerned, living in the ghetto meant that he had no reputation whatsoever to uphold at school. 

of course, being a gallagher did nothing to alleviate the fact that they were on-par with the milkoviches in regards to parenting, or lack thereof, financial strain, and the sheer number of people who waltzed in and out of the house on a daily basis. 

there were benefits that came from growing up in this neighborhood, though. like no-one giving two flying shits if you showed up to class late, never doing your homework, beating other kids up in the hallway, or vice versa (not that ian would ever admit to being some jackass fifth-grader's personal punching bag. fiona would have his head if she ever found out. the secret was between him and lip, and he wanted it to stay that way).

despite the advantages of going to a shitty elementary school in a shitty neighbourhood, ian was never able to get away with the so-called 'benefits' other kids seemed to have. 

fiona would walk the younger gallagher kids to school every morning without fail like some overbearing teen mom, before taking the L to her own school where she was known not as the head of the gallagher household, but any other middle school kid with nothing but kid problems. 

not to mention she was always waiting at the school gates to take ian and lip home. watching like a hawk, ready to pounce if she ever found out her younger brothers had been slacking off. (she'd caught lip sneaking a bag of weed out of school once with a punishment that entailed a slap to his butt and having his shitty cellphone confiscated for an entire month, to which lip complained was far worse than being beat up by some douchebag fifth-grader, like ian). 

as much the gallaghers struggled to stay afloat as a working class, messed-up family, ian was grateful he even had a one. that he had lip and fiona to look up to; his siblings who gave him all the love frank and monica never could and never would. 

debbie and carl, the toddlers, were always fun to play with. while ian didn't have many friends from school, doting on his baby brother and sister was more than enough to fill that gaping hole that was his social life. 

so yes, ian was grateful for the family he had. he knew there were families far more messed up than theirs. while they had an alcoholic father and junkie mother, many other kids had abusive, felon parents. while they had love; siblings who'd lend a shoulder to cry on, other kids lived in constant fear. after all, it's familial love that makes a house a home. 

  


&&&

  


the milkoviches were an entirely different story. not that ian had ever personally interacted with any of them; all he knew was that they were a big family, just like his own. but the similarities ended there. 

he'd heard stories of terry milkovich and his comfort with committing homicides, the patriarch bring guilty of his wife's disappearance a few months back. no one dared to ask around about what really happened though. everyone knew what terry was capable of. ian saw the proof on mickey milkovich's face whenever the other boy passed him in the hallways, seemingly always sporting a black eye and cuts littered all over his face and arms. who knows what else was hidden under the kid's clothes. 

mickey never bothered to cover his injuries up, though. rather, he wore them like badges of honor; like battle scars he could be proud of. as if surviving as terry milkovich's son was enough to gain the respect from all the kids in the neighborhood. that was true, though. paired with an attitude ten times bigger than his small stature, even the notorious bullies knew not to mess with mickey milkovich. 

while the milkovich boy was supposedly lip's age, he was in ian's class for almost every subject. had been for the past two years. 'screwed for life', ian had heard the teachers mumbling about the kid. he didn't seem dumb, though. his academic failure probably had much to do with the fact that mickey rarely showed up to class; and whenever he did, he was always glaring out the window or sleeping.

  


&&&

  


the first time mickey milkovich acknowledged ian's existence was on a tuesday afternoon. the teacher was pacing up and down the classroom, watching the kids like a hawk. as if the third-graders were smart (or dumb, depending on how you see it) enough to cheat on a stupid math test that ian would bet debbie and carl could even pass. 

bracing himself for fifteen minutes of agony, ian looked down at his test paper and reached to pick up his pencil. it was nowhere to be found. groaning internally, he realized that he'd left his sandwich bag at home. the bag that contained his single half-bitten pencil and pen he'd stolen from some kid last year. 

which meant he had to borrow someone else's pencil. great. another chance to get beaten up over merely needing help. ian reached out to tap the shoulder of the kid sitting in front of him. when he realized who it was, he hesitated. 

mickey milkovich was slumped over his desk, snoring away. his test paper had fallen to the floor beside his chair, which the teacher had not bothered to pick up. being a milkovich gave you a green card for doing whatever you wanted and no one giving a shit. 'screwed for life'. the inspiring motto hanging above mickey milkovich's head like a trophy. 

to his dismay, ian realized he had no other choice in the matter. he needed that pencil. if he slacked off with this test, fiona would have his ass and he'd have to put up with another week of lip's teasing and being called a dumbass by everyone who walked in and out of the gallagher house. 

holding his breath and preparing for the worst, ian reach out again to tap mickey on the shoulder. the older boy merely grunted in his slumber. one...two...three... nothing. ian resorted to poking the boy's back. harder than he had intended. shit. 

without warning, mickey sat upright with a loud, "fuck!" 

the room was completely silent. every pair of eyes was turned in their direction and ian felt his face begin to heat up. so much for trying to stay away from trouble. milkovich was like a walking, talking billboard that said, 'here i am! look at me!' 

the teacher barely glanced up from her spot at the front of the classroom, immersed in whatever stupid book she was reading. was she holding it upside down? ian squinted. yeah, go figure. 

mickey stretched out his tiny limbs (he was small, even for a ten year old) with a groan and turned around sharply to glare at ian. his bright blue eyes were piercing. ian was somewhere between intimidated and in awe. 

"the fuck you want, dickhead?" 

that immediately snapped ian back to reality. 

"um... can i borrow a pencil? i just wanted-" he was rudely cut off with yet another snarky remark. 

"get your own, dickwad. can't you see i'm trying to fucking sleep here?" mickey retorted, making no effort in keeping his voice down. everyone continued with their business as if nothing had happened. 

the statement would comical if not for the hard stare mickey was giving ian. if he didn't know better, he'd think mickey was about to murder him with the way the boy was gripping the back of his chair. the F-U-C-K tattoo on the kid's knuckles did nothing to soften the looming presence of mickey milkovich, no matter how small the boy was. 

"s-sorry-" ian started.

"yes, you'd better be fucking sorry, you pussy. touch me again and i'll rip your fucking tongue outta your head." 

spoken like a true piece of southside trash. ian had to admit, he'd heard worse and the empty threat just made mickey more interesting than the rest of the boring ass kids in this boring ass school. realizing that mickey had no murderous tendencies but just a lack of brain-to-mouth filter, ian felt a grin creeping onto his face. this kid was endearing, in his own way. 

"the fuck you smiling for, howdy doody?" mickey demanded. 

"nothing," ian mumbled, looking down. trying desperately to wipe the smile off his face but to no avail. 

"well. talk to me again and i'll fucking stab you. got it?" 

ian nodded meekly. mickey turned back around, promptly slumping back over his desk as if that whole ordeal was just a figment of ian's imagination. for a moment, he had forgotten what that was all about. glancing down at his desk again, he remembered. the pencil he was after perching right beside his test paper. 

that sneaky bastard. it was then ian realized mickey milkovich was more than what other people gave him credit for. there was more to the 'shit-talking, bitch-slapping southside piece of trash' he was known by. surely, behind that tough-guy façade was a kind-hearted kid who never meant to hurt anybody. just born and raised on the rough side of Chicago, that's all. ian grinned to himself, picked up the borrowed pencil and began the test. 

  


&&&

  


that night, ian couldn't sleep. he lay staring up at the ceiling, arms folded over his stomach. eventually, lip, carl and debbie's snores lulled him into a peaceful slumber. he dreamed of piercing blue eyes and an obscene knuckle tattoo. it was the most peaceful sleep he'd had in a while. 

  


&&&

  


at the age of nine, all ian gallagher wanted was a pencil. a decade and a half later, he'd ended up with more than he could ask for: a husband by the name of mickey milkovich.

**Author's Note:**

> a meet cute 😍
> 
> buy me a [kofi ](https://ko-fi.com/bluehfk) for more one-shots like this! i'll love you forever <3


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